Fraud. I was a fraud. It had all been a sham and I was nothing.

Fear tightened about my throat, and I rose from the stool. “Another time, perhaps. It needs a thorough tuning and so much repair—”

“And you need a project.” Bridget smiled at me. “Now you know how to come here if you’re awake at night. Can it be fixed?”

I ducked under the lid again, feeling the strength of the strings that could easily bear the weight of a tuning, checking the board for cracks or weakness. “It appears solid in all the important ways. But I haven’t tools or—”

The worn groove in my fingertip caught, supposedly the result of working at a loom, but it was not. It was this—restoration. Pianofortes. I’d never seen a loom in my life. With a smile I fitted all five fingers over those strings, feeling the familiar grooves and running my hand up and down the length of them. It was who I was. No matter what they said, or made me write, I was still myself and they were wrong about who that was.

I turned back to the motley little group and smiled. “You have given me the most lovely gift I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You can start by bringing it back to what it should be,” Bridget said with a matter-of-fact smile.

I nodded. “I’ll see what can be done about it. Seems such a waste, leaving it to rot.” I lifted the lid again and settled the stand back inside, resting the lid onto the case. As I did, the clock in the tower bonged once, twice, three times.

Bridget’s arms shot out to the side and she froze. “Shhh.”

The women quieted and my stomach flipped.

“Twelve, three, and six, twelve, three, and six,” Bridget mumbled, wringing her hands. “Every three hours they check our ward. Twelve, three, and six.”

I swallowed twice. We stood in the shadows and waited, listening for sounds from the main house. The candle Bridget had lit flickered over the paneled walls as we waited to be caught, but no one came.

“Just keep out of sight if you hear someone, and remember the pattern,” Bridget whispered. “Twelve, three, and six. When you hear the clock strike, stop moving and stay quiet. They’ll check the wards, then it’ll be safe again.”

“Should we go back? We should go back.” Clara fidgeted with the fabric of her gown.

“Here, help me get it covered again.” Bridget fetched the sheet rumpled on the floor, and together we spread it over the grand instrument. “Had a cover when we found it, but we wanted you to see it straightaway all uncovered.”